


We'll Meet Again

by MundaneChampagne



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: BackChannels, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, Historical Settings, Historical racism/sexism/homophobia, M/M, Multi, Other, Vignettes, sad but hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: Hastur isn't happy about this, not in the slightest. But somehow, things work out better than he ever expected.Updates Tuesdays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey wanna give a shoutout to all the Good Omens rarepair writers out there! And an extra cookie to MathConcepts (who I have borrowed some headcanons from), somanyopentabs, KellerProcess, and kaylaber1, all of whose works have made these <s>assholes</s> characters come alive for me.
> 
> A note on pronouns:  
Ligur: Always he/him. He chose a solid gender identity for himself.  
Hastur: He/him. Doesn't care about gender, but likes matching Ligur.  
Michael: She/them, depending on the situation.
> 
> Ligur is that guy who cannot choose what color to wear, so he wears all of them. His outfit in the series was him trying to be more professional for Armageddon.

**Hadrian's Wall, Britannia, 5th Century AD**

Approximately 1500 years later, a film produced by a popular comedic troupe would open with a scene of mist blowing over the British moors. And then the sound of hoofbeats—or coconuts, rather.

Hastur rather liked that film. He had to bring several copies back down to Hell, because they tended to get stolen very quickly. He particularly liked the bit where the whole production got shut down by the riot police.

He didn't like the opening, the bit with the mist and the hoofbeats—coconuts.

It reminded him too much of how this whole shitshow had begun.

There were no coconuts in Britannia at the time, and there wouldn't be until a number of centuries later. There were no hoofbeats, either. The wall had been abandoned a few years back as the Romans hastily left the island.

But there was rather a lot of mist.

Ligur had gotten a note. It just appeared on his desk one morning, gleaming and standing out amidst the soiled reports of half the departments in Hell. This letter shone, no dirt clinging to its surface.

Hastur could swear it _hummed_, a faint sound of chiming bells, but Ligur looked at him like he was crazy when he mentioned that detail.

And there was a wax seal, the wax a dignified gold, stamped with the crest of the Archangel Michael.

Ligur opened it.

And now the two were standing beside the wall, vision limited by the mist. Hastur's ears were pricked, listening for any hint of angel. He had several throwing knives strapped to his belt, and a dagger in case any of the knives missed.

His knives did not tend to miss their targets.

But best be safe.

"Think it'll show?" he asked after an hour or so.

Ligur shrugged. His eyes were a pale yellow. "It had to assume that we could use the opportunity to set a trap. Probably wants to be cautious."

He paused and held out his hands, gesturing as he spoke. "If I were an Archangel that sent that note, what would my motives be?"

Hastur kept one eye on him, another eye scanning the landscape. Watching Ligur's thought process was always fascinating to him.

"One: I could lay an ambush to kill any demons that came. But that discounts the fact that we tend to be more paranoid than angels. Michael would understand that.

"Two: I could not show, and use this time for gathering intel. See who answers the letter, and use that information to intuit the political state of Hell.

"Three: The angel might actually be genuine in what it wants."

"No," said Hastur.

Ligur shrugged. "It's not a bad idea, to set up confidential channels to exchange information. Only reason I never tried anything like that was because I wouldn't expect an angel to trust us."

"It shouldn't."

"So assuming that's the angel's actual motive," Ligur continued, "there are three ways this could go. One: We're paranoid, and we don't send anyone to check this out. Waste of time and effort. Two: _We_ lay an ambush. Angel's probably watching out for any sign of that. Three:—"

"Three—"

"We do what we did." Ligur spread his arms. "An interested demon shows up, not to ambush, but to learn more."

"I feel like we're the stupid ones here."

Ligur's eyes gleamed red. "If we're _not_, the results could be invaluable."

Ligur was right in a number of ways.

The angel was sincere. There were no traps. But they weren't going to trust any one of Hell's number, so they waited in the fog.

Two of them, which came as a surprise. They'd expected either one demon (looking over its shoulder, paranoid that its own side would kill it for meeting an angel), an army, or none at all.

But there were two.

One was dressed in the typical human manner of the day. A rough tunic and trousers, laced up sandals. And a belt, weighted down with an absurd number of knives. All the fabric was pale, which surprised Michael. Most demons they'd met preferred black. A lot less subtle.

The other _was_ dressed in black. A long robe, not taking after any human style. What was a surprise were the colors. It wore a long scarf, brightly dyed in a garish manner. It had long braids that were decked with beads of all sorts.

Curious, for a demon to express any kind of personality beyond "evil".

Michael had a feeling that the one in black was the one who was interested, and probably dragged the other along as a bodyguard. Or cannon fodder.

They'd been standing for a while, sometimes chatting quietly. There didn't seem to be any other demonic activity in the area.

Time to make their move.

They stepped into the demons' line of sight. The pair tensed, their conversation halted in its tracks.

"You got my letter." It was a statement.

"I got your letter," said the one in black. "I'm interested." It paused.

"Good," Michael said. Hunch confirmed. This demon was the one in charge. "What's your name?"

"_Dux_ Ligur. You want information, you came to the right place."

A human title. "Very well, _Dux_." Michael played along with the hierarchy. "I propose we meet periodically to exchange intelligence. Do not expect me to compromise my side, and I will not ask that of you. Unofficial channels only."

The demon nodded, grinned. Its eyes were an intense red that made Michael uneasy. "Once a century or so?"

Michael nodded. "Done." They stuck out their hand to shake.

The other reacted in a split second, pulling Ligur behind it and pointing a knife at Michael's face. They paused, met the demon's ink-black eyes, and waited. The bodyguard had an awful look on its face, like a rabid dog just waiting to be let loose from its chain.

Ligur didn't even flinch. It just reached up, squeezed the other's shoulder, whispered something into its ear. The bodyguard stared another second, then slowly lowered its knife. The expression on its face did not change.

Ligur stepped out from behind it, and held out its own hand. "Deal," it said, and its eyes were now orange, a warmer and more inviting color.

Michael shook, wondering, perhaps too late, if they'd made the right decision. But Ligur's grip was firm, its skin soft, and it didn't try to squeeze too hard or twist Michael's hand.

A good omen.

But the other one blinked its unnerving black eyes, and Michael could swear they saw a trace of fear there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Germany, 12th Century AD**

"Always with the damp," Michael said, tossing their hair back. "Heaven isn't nearly as damp as the places you like to invite me."

"It's _castles_," Hastur grumbled. "It's a great bloody building made of rock with no windows. 'Course it's damp."

Michael and Ligur ignored him.

Instead, they rolled out documents, put their heads together, conspired and discussed in low whispers. Hastur just stood by the heavy wooden door, leaning up against the wall. His hands itched. Itched to stab the angel in front of him.

But he wouldn't. He was a fan of trouble, but stabbing an Archangel would invite the wrong kind of trouble.

Instead, he just clenched his hands in his gambeson, and settled down for a good long sulk. He never took his eyes from the odd pair in front of him.

Business. Strategy. Ligur lived for it. The demon had a mind like a steel trap: sharp, focused, and ready to seize on new ideas.

Hastur, on the other hand, had a mind like a rock. At first glance, it was just a rock. But if you turned the rock over, you would find plenty of things there. And they wiggled.

This conspiring wasn't for him. He left all the grand ideas to Ligur, perfectly content to spend his life executing other peoples' plans.

Like this exchanging information with an angel. They'd met several times now, and Hastur thought he deserved some kind of reward for not actually shutting the whole thing down, stabbing the angel, and dragging Ligur right back to Hell. Ligur seemed perfectly comfortable with an Archangel in the same room. Which was why Hastur insisted that he never go alone.

A rustling sound drew him out of his reverie.

A mouse was scratching around in the rushes that covered the floor. Hastur waited for a second, then swooped down and seized the mouse by the tail. He stood back up and dangled the little vermin in front of his face. The mouse's whiskers twitched, its paws flailed.

He observed it for a moment, then opened his mouth. A snack wouldn't go amiss right now.

A loud "ahem" from the table, and Hastur paused, the mouse halfway to his mouth.

Ligur and Michael were both watching him. The angel glared, eyes narrowed.

Hastur hesitated. He could see Ligur roll his eyes.

Hastur met the angel's eyes, gave the mouse an exaggerated kiss on its scraggly fur, and put it back on the floor. The angel just nodded coldly, then turned back to their papers.

The mouse quickly vanished into the shadows.

They took a break. Ligur stood up from the table and stretched, yawned loudly and obnoxiously. Hastur pushed himself away from the wall. Ligur turned, took Hastur's hands in his own.

And Michael watched. They were fascinated by the easy way these two demons touched each other. Not with malice, or intent to hurt, but with affection. Like it was as natural as scratching an itch, or sitting down when tired.

Angels didn't touch each other like that. It wasn't necessary, in what they did. But Michael watched. And thought about what it would be like to so easily reach out to another, touch them just because you felt like it.

And strange that demons were capable of that at all, when Michael's understanding told them that demons held no affection, no caring, no love.

These two certainly seemed to enjoy it.

Michael wondered if they would like it too.

Once they resumed their work, Michael and Ligur sitting back down and pulling out more books and loose sheets of parchment, Hastur leaning back against the wall, Michael found themselves getting distracted.

Ligur's hands danced over the paper, occasionally making a note, and they were graceful about it, not what Michael would expect from a demon. His handwriting was round and tidy. And Michael watched him work, and wondered what touch might be like.

They had no experience with any of these things. And it never occurred to them to ask. But when Michael grasped at Ligur's hand and moved it to point out a spot on a map, Ligur didn't pull away, or act startled at all.

What startled Michael was when the knife point thudded into the table, inches from their hand.

Hastur was standing over them. And the look on his face was directed entirely at Michael, and it was terrifying.

"You don't touch him," Hastur whispered.

No one moved for a few seconds. Then Ligur carefully extracted his hand from under Michael's, and pulled the knife out of the table. "It's ok," he murmured, handing the knife back to Hastur, whose grip clenched around it, like he was about to strike again. "It's ok, love."

Hastur blinked once, very slowly. Michael's gaze never moved from his eyes. Not challenging him, Michael hoped. But merely trying to convey that they understood his displeasure, and wouldn't try it again.

Hastur finally backed off, retreating back to lean against the wall. But the knife stayed out, and he idly twirled it between his fingers.

"Right," Ligur said. "I don't think this particular city will make much of a difference to either of our sides…"

And just like that, back to conspiring. Like nothing had happened.

But the thud of the knife kept echoing in Michael's mind. Along with the feel of Ligur's hand. His skin had been warm.

They finished, and packed up all their papers. Michael tucked everything under their arm and nodded to Ligur. "Until next time," they said, and vanished in a flash of light.

Ligur piled his notes on the table. "That oughta do for a few centuries, the amount we covered." He stifled a yawn.

"You're not gonna say anything?" Hastur was outraged. And with no angel to turn it on, he directed it at his partner. "They don't have to right to touch you like that. And you didn't stop them."

"It's really fine," Ligur said. "I don't mind. And they're not gonna hurt me."

"You can't know that," Hastur insisted. "You can't trust an angel."

"We've been ok so far," Ligur pointed out. "This is beneficial to both of us. And the moment it stops being useful, we'll never have to see them again."

"You never worry about yourself enough." Hastur glared at him.

Ligur reached out, took his hands. "I really don't think they meant any harm. They probably just weren't thinking." He smiled. "And besides. I don't have to worry when you're here."

Hastur sighed, squeezed Ligur's hands.

"They're right, you know," Ligur said eventually. "About the castles. The damp reminds me of that leak in your office."

Hastur frowned. He hated that leak. And he hated Ligur being unhappy with anything. "Next time," he promised, "I'll take you somewhere nice."


	3. Chapter 3

**San Marino, 14th Century AD**

Ligur was puffing. "This is a lot of stairs."

"I said I'd take you somewhere nice, didn't I? Now shut up, just a few more levels to go."

Michael didn't say anything, just looked up at the stairs. Probably thinking something about poor humans with no wings. Stuck-up angels.

Finally, they reached the top of the tower.

"Best view south of the Alps," Hastur said, throwing his arms out. Ligur's eyes glittered, the pink of his irises catching the midday light. Even the angel's eyes widened, taking in the sweep of the countryside that spread out below them.

"It is nice." Ligur turned and caught Hastur's hands in his own.

Hastur grinned and leaned in for a brief kiss. When he pulled back, he noticed the angel looking at them, with a look more akin to curiosity than disgust. He curled his lip. "What you lookin' at, sunshine?"

Michael had been surprised the first time he'd called them that. So had Ligur. "Not quite a demonic-like insult, is it?"

"You ever discorporated in a desert before?" Hastur asked them. "The sun it blazes down, rips all the life out of you, bleaches your bones. Harsh. Unrelenting. Just like—" He pointed at Michael "—you."

Ligur nodded, satisfied, and the angel hadn't said anything, but took it with a good grace.

Like they do now. They simply turn away, take in the scenery again.

Ligur leaned over the parapet. "You could see the whole of Italy from here."

"Not the _whole_ of it," Hastur mutters, but he's more amused than anything.

Ligur grinned. "All of that. All those humans going about. Just waiting for us to intervene in their lives." He tapped his fingers on the stone. "Like a big game of chess."

"One which we will win," Michael said.

Hastur turned to look at them. Was the angel _teasing?_

Ligur took it as such. "You want to make this personal, then?" He grinned and stuck out a hand. "You're on."

Michael took his hand. A smile flitted across their face and was gone in an instant. They were _definitely _teasing.

"And what do I get if Hell wins?" Ligur asked.

Michael thought about it. Didn't let go of his hand, which Hastur took immediate notice of. "Bragging rights."

Ligur's smile got bigger. "I already got enough to brag about. Try again."

"I'll owe you a favor."

Ligur's eyes sparked a bright blue. "Done." He didn't drop Michael's hand as he turned back to look over the parapet.

Hastur continued to stare, and didn't say anything.

The wind caught Michael's hair, pulled back on top of their head. Hastur was right. This location was perfect. Many of their experiences on Earth had been less than pleasant, and Michael usually felt a pang of pity, for the humans that had to crawl around on the surface.

But this? A tower that had built seemingly to gaze out over the beautiful landscape. A view that otherwise would've been restricted to the birds.

And the angels.

That a demon could find this place, and find it nice, surprised Michael. Just another example to add to the list of the way these two surprised them.

The first few times they'd met, Michael assumed Hastur to be a bodyguard. They were surprised when they discovered that the two demons were the same rank. Ligur was the confident one, the one with the wiles and smarts to further Hell's ambition. Hastur, on the other hand, seemed to be composed entirely of rage and anxiety.

And he spent time on Earth. Carrying out Ligur's plans, Michael knew, but most demons didn't like the surface. Hastur, however, somehow managed to walk the Earth without a care, blending in enough to fool the humans, but never quite seeming comfortable. Another surprise.

And the biggest surprise of all was that the two seemed to love. Not in an angelic sort of way, no, but the way that humans did at their best: loyalty, affection—Michael hadn't believed it possible. That demons could feel any kind of positive emotion.

But the evidence was staring them in the eyes, and Michael wasn't one to cling to beliefs which were disproved.

The surprise that stung at Michael's heart the most was that they didn't know who Hastur and Ligur had _been_.

They'd made it a point: to know the names of each and every angel that had fallen, to remember them as they were. To not forget what Heaven had lost. And hopefully, to prevent such a thing happening ever again.

But Michael didn't recognize either of the two. No names or faces came to mind. Had they changed that much from their previous lives?

Or had Michael failed in their remembrances?

The only way to know was to ask.

They finally let go of Ligur's hand, missing the loss of warmth but also conscious of the fact that Hastur was probably already on edge from that touch, and it wouldn't be wise to provoke him further.

"What do your names mean?" they asked. Held their breath, waited to see how to question would go over.

Ligur glanced over at Hastur, who just tilted his head. "They mean _us_," Ligur said. "We named each other."

Another surprise. "You named each other?"

Ligur grinned. "After the Fall. We came up with a list of decent sounding names then picked two out. Don't mean anything else."

"Like names have to have meaning," Hastur muttered. "That's pretentious."

"Like yours." Ligur's grin widened, and Michael figured that whatever he was going to say wouldn't be meant maliciously. "'Who is like God'. _That's_ pretentious."

It did sting, but Michael knew he hadn't meant it.

"My name does not mean that I am as God," Michael corrected, but gently. "It is a challenge, something to strive towards. Every day."

They stared at them.

"Why would someone wanna be like the Almighty?" Ligur asked.

"The Almighty's kind of a bastard," Hastur said.

Michael shut their eyes and inhaled. "It works for me." They _were_ still demons, Michael reminded themselves.

How easy it was, to forget sometimes.

Pretend that the three were just friends.

"That angel's getting too close."

"Hey, you make business deals with someone, you wind up getting to know them in some way. It happens all the time."

"This isn't like you and Dagon playing mah-jongg on weekends!" Hastur snapped. "An angel is an _enemy_, not someone to make friends with."

"We agreed to work in the best interests of our sides—"

"And getting to know an angel is not in our best interests." Hastur's eyes locked onto Ligur's. "And the way they _touch_ you. Probably gets some sort of sick thrill out of messing with a demon."

Ligur was quiet for a moment, studying Hastur intently. "And if I get some sick thrill out of it?" he asked. "Playing with the angel?"

Hastur's eyes widened. He knew every minute expression of Ligur's face, every nuance of his voice, his moods. "Do you _want_ the angel?" he asked quietly.

Ligur held his gaze. "I wouldn't say no if the opportunity came up," he said. He paused for a minute. "Is that ok?"

"Not without me," Hastur whispered, his head falling onto Ligur's shoulder. Ligur's hand came up, rubbed his back, held him. "Not without me there to protect you."


End file.
